Recently, I discovered that Monster #1, the sadistic pedophile who sexually assaulted me for a year, is dead. Ding dong!
He’s dead. He will never hurt anyone again. For the past couple of decades, he hasn’t really been able to hurt anyone, because he was in a wheelchair. He was decrepit decades before he died. Still, I can’t help but wonder whether there were other children that he destroyed with his vile sickness.
I don’t think he had kids of his own, but I know that he was married to a woman with two children for about a decade. One of them was a boy, so I’m assuming he was safe, but the other child was a girl. I worry for her. I hope she didn’t end up like me, and if she did, I hope her mother believed her. Perhaps that’s why they got divorced. Can you imagine marrying a pedophile? How horrifying.
I have mixed feelings on knowing that a man who features so prominently in my nightmares is dead. On one hand, I’m glad that he is gone forever. I wish he had died decades ago. I wished death on him so many times and it only came now.
On the other hand, it means I will never get justice for what he did to me. He will never be singled out as a pedophile, be listed on a sex offender registry or have to pay for his crimes in any way. He got away with it for most of his life and mine. That makes me angry.
This man was evil. He was manipulative. He was sadistic. He was just plain mean. He had no redeeming qualities. He never even worked for a living. He basically hopped from one adult woman to another sucking off of them like a tick.
I have nothing to say about that man. As a fully grown adult, I’m still dealing with the wreckage he left of me. I’m still processing how much of my life choices were the result of his actions. If not for him, I wouldn’t have tried to numb what he did to me with drugs. I might not have put myself in situations where I could have easily died, because I didn’t care about living. I wouldn’t have PTSD. I would be a different person than the one that grew out of his wanton destruction. He took delight in breaking me. That makes me angry too.
He took so much from me. He replaced my childish innocence with fear. He turned sleep into night terrors. He shattered my sense of self and left me as a muddled bundle of raw nerves. He gave me a host of other issues that I’m still wading hip deep through even now. I’ll never get any of that back, with or without his death.
I’ve never really celebrated anyone’s death before, so it’s a strange sensation. His death is a childish request finally fulfilled decades too late to be of use to anyone, least of all, me. Hopefully, most of you don’t know what it’s like to be a child silently praying for someone to die. Most children wish for new toys, not death. Dear god: please give me a pony for Christmas and his death.
That he died as an old man just proves that life isn’t fair, as if I needed any more convincing of that fact. Bad people get away with bad things all the time. The rich get richer and buy better lawyers. The poor get their backs broken. There is no god(s) balancing the ledger, and if there is, it’s the worst accountant ever. There is no fairness or justice in this world.
Still, knowing that he’s dead and that he died alone in a wheelchair with no one there makes me a little happy. I will never have to see him ever again. I will never again have to think about how wrong it is that he’s still free to do to others what he did to me. It’s not justice, but it is an ending. It’s not fair, but it’s comforting just the same.
Now, I just have to wait for Monster #2 to die and the world will be a better place.